It’s a Dog’s Life

I was called into duty on Thursday morning—to the pound, sort of. Same stuff, different day, pet project. I was goin’ downtown and to the dogs.

In the shadow of many tall buildings (but still on the wrong side of the tracks, if ever so slightly) I searched for the address. The sidewalk across the street housed merely one man who along with a handful of blankets and a single brown paper bag seemed to hold up the building he was slouched against. With my truck full of tools and mud, the drywall type, I arrived at the back door.

The steps up to the cement deck were a bit rickety and had just enough ice on them to encourage even me to use the handrail. The rear door looked adequately secure with enough metal and heavy duty hardware to discourage any canine rustlers. The closest thing to a welcome sign was the variety of “smiley” MasterCard, Visa, and Discover logos near the center of the door. The name of the place was also on the door, but not in a stylish enough way to let one know this was the main entrance. I think that honor fell to the windowed door on the other side facing the street.

I tried the door and sure enough it popped open as a mighty chorus of scores of dogs of all types and shapes and sizes greeted me. The sound was deafening and I quickly realized that one thing my warehouse on wheels lacked was a pair of earplugs. In a voice that I continually had to raise and raise, I asked for the whereabouts of the owner. She was nowhere to be found, but the project was staring me in the face. It was two small walls that needed some muddin’. It was part of an effort to spruce up this rear entrance to the place.

As the dogs sang on, I began to haul in my tools. Once completely inside with all my stuff, I settled in to the constant, but varying waves of sound. Each pooch tried to be the first in noticing any activity or any movement of any door. Or maybe they were all auditioning for some upcoming solo parts in a doggy musical. It was a wall of sound that would have made Phil Spector proud.

But the thing that I noticed most from my two day tour at Downtown Dogs was the camaraderie of all the canine’s companions. The owner of the place put things in proper perspective when she wrote that she was owned by three rescued dogs. They were in this together, providing a pampered place to put their pups. I only worked in the rather sterile “receiving” area, but I saw pictures of comfy areas that put our living room to shame. The dogs get to curl up on a couch as they watch their movies. I didn’t ask if popcorn was complimentary.

With a pair of earplugs, this might not be a bad place to work. The dozens of customers/clients/guardians that I brushed against in the two days all had the same warm greeting and smile and made me feel a part of their community, even though they knew not that I too am a fellow servant of a dog where I live. Our German shepherd mix surely would have enjoyed working with me these past few days, but he was at another doggie daycare where he truly is king, pampered with the undivided attention of a real warden, the Warden of my heart and his.